To What Length
by RavensRequiem
Summary: A fine line runs between a pursuit and an obsession and it is a line that Malik walks carefully in his efforts to rid Altaϊr of the Apple, desperate to see the Piece destroyed before it takes away the one thing that means anything to him. Altaϊr/Malik


To What Length

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything contained herein. I'm just havin' fun with it

Warning: Altaϊr/Malik

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Doors were not supposed to be intimidating to Assassins. Doors were meant to be climbed across for higher access, used as shields against enemy forces, as clear indicators that outsiders weren't allowed in, and possibly as weapons if the situation called for creativity in combat. However, none of those instances included doors being intimidating and Malik deeply resented the nondescript door he had been staring at angrily for half an hour. The joint Master of Assassins was _not_ supposed to stand in front of a door like he had no right to enter and he wasn't supposed to shy away from the same door every time he raised his fist to knock against it.

In Malik's mind, the door might as well have been a sleeping beast that would take his arm off if he rapped upon its surface and, seeing as he only had one arm left, he would like to keep it.

It was absolutely ludicrous to think that a door could up and animate itself, but Malik felt he could justify his opinion of the door if he were ever interrogated. The door didn't scare him – what rested behind the door scared him. That fear didn't stop Malik from standing there, but it did force him to hesitate against any further action, dark eyes searching across the time-worn wood as if it would open for him if he glared long enough.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Malik screwed up his courage. He had reasoned that he, who had rode against the Templars and the traitor himself, with naught but a handful of scared men and a severe handicap, had no reason to fear a door or the bizarre creature the door hid from the world. With purpose, he knocked once, twice, then waited for an answer, his ears perked for any sort of movement within. When he heard nothing, he found himself emboldened and knocked again with more force; nothing but silence greeted him again. Bolder still, Malik knocked hard three times and called, "It's Malik, let me in."

There was a reply that time and it was distracted: "Leave me in peace, Malik. I am busy at present time."

Malik felt his confidence crack at the foundation as he eyed the door up again, his chest tight when he heard the tone of fatigue and torment in the voice that had replied. But, a sense of duty compelled him to persist and he called back, "You have to come out and eat, something you haven't done for near a week. You're going to put yourself in a-" Time-tested and always honed reflexes worked in Malik's favor when he was forced to move from the door, gaze set on the first third of a knife that had lodged through the door.

"I said leave me in peace, Malik. Do not force my hand further."

The knife was a greater warning than the words and Malik felt hopelessness rise up to crush him, but he wouldn't let it show. It was bad enough that the Brotherhood was suffering under one of their Master's disregard – it would do no good for anyone to see the remaining Master giving into the human urge to scream and beat at the door until he was either impaled or gave up.

Still, Malik persisted and risked another throwing knife to state, "There is food outside your door, Altaϊr. Don't let it spoil this time."

Silence replied in a sign that Altaϊr either hadn't cared to answer or hadn't heard Malik's request.

Malik sighed and ran his hand through his short, messy hair, leaning against the wall behind him to stare at the door a while longer. He wanted, more than anything, to barge into that damned room, beat sense back into the Eagle of Maysaf with that goddamned artifact, and pitch the thing back into Hell where it belonged. But, he couldn't do that, not with the knowledge that Altaϊr could hand him his own heart before he even got near the Apple. No, he had to be smarter about getting near Altaϊr again and breaking the spell that damned Piece of Eden had placed on his lover. He had to be smarter and careful because Malik knew there were more than weapons that Altaϊr could hit him with. Words were deadly weapons and Malik was loathe to be reminded again that _he_ had delivered the Apple to Al Mualim, _he_ had turned a blind eye towards the traitor's madness, _he _was responsible for the death of a good quarter of Maysaf when the Apple's spell had been broken, and that _he_ was responsible for not destroying the artifact when Altaϊr had been unable to.

Malik knew the weight of his sins and was aware that he was responsible for the current disparity that plagued the Brotherhood. He would make it right eventually, but he didn't want to take Altaϊr out with the Apple. He would research the artifact he knew little of, learn its secrets and abilities, and find a way to pry it from Altaϊr's hands before he had to do so after the Assassin's expiration.

To add to the list of things that intimidated Malik of late, he could add books as a close second to doors. In his time as rafiq, he had learned how to effectively reseach scant or hazy subject material and make decent material of it, thankless and irritating as the tasks had been. He had never thought that his time spent demoted, angry, and bored would be of use to him at any point in his life, but from where he was buried in ancient and modern texts, he was sort of thankful Al Mualim had once deemed him useless and shelved him. The task of researching the Apple was still tedious and frustrating and already he had been forced to leave Maysaf a handful of times in search of texts either long hidden by time or well guarded by the Templars.

At present time, Malik could only research a lead he had gained from a Christian minister in Acre, a stooped old man who had been kind and helpful despite his rumored dislike for the Assassins. They had spoken in depth on matters of the Pieces of Eden and, despite Malik's expert divergence of the Apple and its location, the minister was far smarter than originally credited. Malik had no idea how the old man had needled such information out of him, but he knew he had been surprised when the minister had handed him a heavy, leatherbound tome with a solemn, "That artifact damned man once. Use this to help you stop it from damning another."

Somehow, that minister had extrapolated Malik's concern over Altaϊr, his hatred for the Apple, and his desire to rid Maysaf of it from a brief series of dialogues on personal experiences. Clever, clever man, Malik had to admit, to pull a fast one on one of the wiliest Assassins in the Brotherhood. A wise man, Malik had later amended, as he read through the tome he had been granted at his departure from Acre. It was the Christian bible, a tool Malik had learned was a tool for justifying war and the slaughter of innocents and a force of opppression on its practitioners, who were told to remain pious or tremble in fear of the God the bible spoke of. Insofar, Malik had found no evidence that the Christian God was necessarily vengeful and rather saw him as an exasperated parent that had to continually give His diobedient children changes to mend their ways. Yes, tragedies had befallen men, but Malik could reason that they had been warned and received the punishment equal to their crimes against their God.

But, that was all peripheral to the information Malik was truly interested in, a distraction when his thoughts grew too heavy and he had to escape them before he drowned. The information he had truly focused on was in the beginning of the bible, in a book called "Genesis". The book described the creation of the earth, of man and animal, of the entire cosmos it seemed. What intrigued Malik were the first humans the book spoke of –created in God's image, the text stated– and the paradise the Creator had made for just two people. It sounded nice, utopian and serene, deprived of war, sickness, and death, and Malik found himself loving the notion more and more with each read of the beginning passages.

But, his affection for the perfection of Eden was shadowed by the fate of the first humans, Adam and Eve, and the object that had led to their downfall. It was a terrible, sneaking suspicion that led Malik to further investigate later books of the bible, his attentions slowly falling into obsession as he poured over the bible and companion texts, tomes from his peoples' faith and other faiths, collected over time. He searched tirelessly for a connection, a reason, and finally realized after three days' time that he was no better than Altaϊr, consumed by his pursuits and forsaking all else.

Malik left his research after that and Maysaf with it.

Seven days had come and gone and it was with great joy that Malik was welcomed back to Maysaf, beaten and wounded, but successful in his assassination mark. He felt normal again after the familiarity of a mission, his thoughts clear and free of fear for the first time since he had first started his research. Of course, he could have done without the injuries, but he figured that he should welcome them as well, since the pain they inflicted was proof that he had survived to fight another day, against evil of the Templar and Apple assortments.

"Master al-Sayf, will you please see the healer?" a novice requested as he stroked the tangled mane of Malik's mount. "Your robes are more red than white."

Malik shook his head and smiled placatingly at the young man. He had frequently found the novice in his shadow and had taken to training him, seeing potential and appreciating his tenacity. That he would admit that he enojyed another soul to converse with, if the novice felt bold enough to speak freely with his Master. "I can take care of myself, novice. But, can you tell me if Master ibn La-Ahad has left his quarters since my departure?"

The novice shook his head, an apologetic light in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Master al-Sayf, but master ibn La-Ahad has not moved _at all_." He glanced down at the ground and colored in embarrassment as he admitted, "I checked myself," in a tiny voice."

Malik arched a brow at the novice, impressed that one so young had the nerve to scale the stronghold's outter wall and spy on Altaϊr. "You are either poised to be a great Assassin or a dead novice, sneaking around on the Master like that."

"We are all concerned, Master," the novice stated, still quiet and demure, hesitant again to speak so brazenly with one of the Masters. It wasn't often he had the courage to open up to one of the Brotherhood's greatest Assassins. "Not to discredit your conduct over the Brotherhood, but the brothers are unsure of what to make of Master ibn La-Ahad's absence. He was once so active and now he is but a spirit that doesn't even bother to haunt the hallways."

Malik hummed in agreement and rested his hand on the novice's shoulder. "Fear not. Tell the people that I am working to reverse the fortunes that have befallen our Eagle and assure them that, even without Master ibn La-Ahad, I will not lead Maysaf astray."

"Words that will comfort the people. Thank you, Master al-Sayf…"

"Safety and peace upon you."

"Safety and peace upon you as well, Master."

Malik patted the novice on the shoulder and gingerly moved up the stairs that led into the stronghold, trying to make the pain from his right leg less obvious. He had to appear stronger than he felt and displaying a limp from a broken leg was _not_ the way to go about that campaign. He knew he should see a healer first, have his injuries bound and set, but after hearing that Altaϊr hadn't even moved, he had to see if he could again lure the Assassin out of his room.

In the least, Malik wanted to know that Altaϊr was still _breathing_ and forced himself up flights of stairs to the Master's room, out of breath and pale from pain by the time he reached the door. Tired as he was, the door didn't intimidate him that time and he knocked thrice with a short, "At least throw something sharp at me if you're still alive, Altaϊr."

There was a reply, but it was in a tongue that Malik had never heard before, sharp and gutteral and almost angry sounding.

Malik felt a cold chill permeate his bones at that, a lead ball of fear settling in his stomach when a little voice whispered in his ear that Altaϊr was being consumed completely, falling into times and spaces that were not yet real or had already passed. Anger hit him then and he beat his injured hand against the door hard, snarling, "Open the goddamned door, Altaϊr."

The knife Malik expected followed and the Assassin glared at it nastily, his patience spent after a long and trying mission. "Fine, rot with that damned Apple, you fool." He knew he's regret those words later, but at the moment, he couldn't care less.

Being confined to bedrest was more annoying than Malik had remembered it being. The leg he thought was mildly injured turned out to be severely injured, a compound fracture that had explained why the leg of his breeches seemed to hang on something that _hurt_. Setting the wound had been painful and long, leaving Malik with a shadow of doubt that he would ever walk upright again, as the healer had informed him that he would be left with a limp even if he healed well.

But, if he could assassinate with one arm, he could run with one bad leg, so let the damned thing heal as poorly as it wanted.

Still, Malik was unwilling to tempt fate and heeded the healer's advice to remain in bed and he took that time to return to his research, armed with no more information than before, but more determined to make the pieces fit before it was too late for the Eagle. With his head clear, he found the passages he read made more sense and he took extensive notes, collected from the passages themselves and his own thoughts on the words.

_Genesis 2:9-10_

_And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food; the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil._

_Genesis 2:18-19_

_And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die. _

_ Something put in clear sight, but forbidden for man to partake of? The temptation of fruit… the temptation of Eden?_

_Genesis 3:1-6_

_Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? And the woman said unto the serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die. And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil. And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. _

_ The snake, the symbol of a traitor or a force of evil for Christians, characterized by cunning and deception. Befitting of a man like Al Mualim, who flagged the damned Apple_

Malik's writings abruptly terminated and the quill fell onto the parchment as the hard kick of an epiphany hit him. The Tree of Life was illustrated as bearing golden apples in the bible's illustrations, shining gold pieces of fruit forbidden for man to partake of. The fruit contained the knowledge of good and evil, as the bible had said, but Malik saw deeper into the texts and he felt the blood drain from his face to leave an ashen, shaken mess of an Assassin.

The text stated that the serpent had tempted woman. Though Altaϊr was so very far from a woman, he had still faced the serpent called Al Mualim and bitten into the fruit of the Tree when temptation was too great.

The Tree of Life bore fruit containing knowledge unknown to Adam and Eve. Didn't the Apple contain the knowledge of all of time, boundless power to control present and possibly the future?

Malik had to focus on breathing when he recalled the start of the silent cataclysm that had claimed Maysaf. He had heard Al Mualim tempt Altaϊr, taunt him with the fact that the Eagle couldn't destroy the knowledge of the divine, couldn't resist its siren's call for very long, that partaking of the Piece of Eden was not a sin, but a necessity for survial.

What Malik was truly stuck on was the final knowledge of what the Apple was. It wasn't just an artifact with frightening power – it was full of knowledge that man shouldn't have. It was full of knowledge that Altaϊr was glutting himself on and unable to pull himself away from. The parallel between Genesis and Altaϊr frightened Malik then, when he read further to find that Adam and Eve were barred from Eden after their transgression, condemned to die after toiling for the rest of their lives to survive.

They had knowledge, but it had cost them their lives.

Malik was terrorified that Altaϊr had made the same trade.

After putting together the greatest pieces of the puzzle of the Apple and healing, Malik had set out glean further knowledge of the artifact, namely a way to destroy the damned thing. Before his departure, he had left an acting Master in his stead, an older Assassin that he trusted to keep Maysaf running smoothly with one Master away and the other partially insane. Malik knew his travels would be long and winding, taking him to places he had only learned of from texts, but he was driven to break the spell the Apple had over his Eagle.

Jerusalem, Acre, and Damascus were the first stops on Malik's winding road and he had seached each tirelessly, working with the Bureau rafiqs to locate old catacombs and structures that might house the answers. At first, his investigations in the cities nearest to Maysaf had been fruitless and he sent a pigeon to the acting Master when he departed from the city he had once tended as rafiq, telling of his intended locations for the foreseeable future.

Months passed and Malik finally had to look critically at his travel upon reaching Egypt. He had found evidence of other Pieces of Eden, great and terrible weapons that had already changed history forever and disappeared into the flow of time. Was he actually gaining the knowledge he wanted or was he unconsciously running a parallel to Altaϊr's obsession? Leaving the wellbeing of Maysaf to an Assassin was possibly the first sign that he had become too wrapped up in his own obsession again and it made him sick to think that he was no better than the Master the Assassins were starting to scorn behind shielded lips. Were they doing the same as he sat there, staring into the depths of the Nile River, cursing their remaining Master for forsaking them?

Malik could only sigh and shake his head; uncertainty had certainly become a very good friend of his since Al Mualim's death. Still, once he calmed himself and reflected on his travels, he did have to admit that he would not return to Maysaf empty handed. His travels across the lands of Syria, Turkey, Iraq, Jordan, and eventually Egypt hade been rife with learning from all sorts of individuals. Practitioners of strange, mystical arts taught him of new salves to stave off infection and soothe burns, compounds that could beat back sickness, and which plants could be used to either help or hurt another party. He had sat with alchemists, who shared with him the knowledge of metals and how to forge better, stronger blades, and where to find the raw ores and process them. He met with scholars who spoke on the Pieces of Eden and had gone as far as to aid fellow brothers upon finding one or two imperiled Assassin strongholds in his journey.

All these things made the journey worth it to Malik. He had yet to find the answer to save Altaϊr, but he had gleaned knowledge that would strenghten Maysaf and help advance the Brotherhood. "Equivalent exchange" is what an Egyptian alchemist had told him, where the nature of balance was the betterment of one thing and the sacrifice of another. "Water is sacrified, but we gain steam from this loss," the alchemist had said with a wry smile.

Malik heeded those words because, the more time he spent searching, the more he realized that he was sacrificing Altaϊr for Maysaf, his mind constantly wandering to new ways to improve the stronghold and city, ways to better train the Assassins, some way to make the Brotherhood see that change was needed with the balance shifted. He didn't want to sacrifice anything, but he had to admit that his ultimate responsibility was to Maysaf, his need for redemption be damned.

After two weeks in Cairo, Malik made the decision to head west of Maysaf, into the lands of India and surrounding countries. He sent a peregrine, faster and sturdier than a pigeon, to the acting Master to inform him of his decision to backtrack and head west and prepared for the next leg of his long journey.

On the day the peregrin caught up to him in Russia, Malik had learned the hard way that the pursuit of knowledge was a dangerous one. His search through the Orient and India had been successful and sometimes delightful, his sachels crammed with all types of exotic specimens, of metalurgic, alchemic, and medical nature. He had even been as fortunate as to locate a handful of texts concerning the Pieces of Eden, though none of them hinted as to how to destroy the Apple.

It was over breakfast that Malik had been reviewing one such text when the peregrin landed on the sill of an open window by his side, bearing a scroll on his leg and a peculiar look in his shining eye. Malik had taken the note and smiled, sharing some of his meat with the bird and marveling at its beauty while he rested in the warmth of an abandoned cabin. His thoughts eventually saddened as he thought of the eagles of Maysaf, a constant and welcome presence in the air at all times of the year, which turned him to _his_ Eagle of Maysaf.

Malik felt his appetite dimish at the thought of Altaϊr and he held the unopened message loosely in his fist, his chest tight when he imagined Altaϊr, now wasted and sickly, killing himself to crack the endless mystery of the Apple. The damned thing was killing him as slowly as it was killing his lover and he found himself wishing that the old days were upon him, when Altaϊr had been an arrogant, stuck up bastard glutted on his pride. He would have murdered half of Israel to hear Altaϊr taunt him and try to lure him into a fight, would have killed his family –if he had one left– to see the cocky mischief in the Assassin's storm gray eyes as he crossed swords with Malik because of heated words. He missed the stolen touches when no one was looking, the torrid passion when they were hidden from the world… He desperately missed the intensity, the pride, the strength of will that made Altaϊr ibn La-Ahad.

The peregrin screeched almost curiously and Malik finally turned from his thoughts to read the message, a sudden longing for home assailing him as he read the words with half a mind. But, before he reached the end of the message, he had to go back, the analytical part of his mind overriding the emotional to realize that something was desperately wrong.

_Never trust sheep, Master al-Sayf, for they sometimes are wolves in disguise. By the time you read this, my Templar brothers will be upon you and I will have but to steal the Eagle's life to regain our stolen treasure. Die peacefully, Malik al-Sayf, knowing that this was all your fault._

Malik cursed violently and cast the message aside, dark eyes searching the white wasteland outside for any sign of guards or worse. When his Sight failed to inform him of any nearby threats, he quickly gathered his belongings and bundled as well as he could in a rush, intent on a hard ride to the Russian border –just half a day's ride at a quick pace– where he knew a stronghold to be. He had already spoken with the Cossacks and they had sworn him safe harbor as a brother of the Creed, if he had need of it. He hoped the Templar party was far enough away that he wouldn't lead them to the stronghold and prayed that he could cross to the next stronghold in India before too long.

Hopes were shattered when Malik heard the thunder of hooves in the far distance and he ran for the door, praying long and hard as he set out at a thundering pace, thoughts on returning to Altaϊr alive and flaying the Assassin traitor that would even dare to raise a hand against the Masters of Maysaf.

Silence had become a friend of Maysaf. In the time since Malik had left, the Assassins had first spoken vehemently against their remaining Master and cursed his wanderlust, but that had ceased a month after Malik's leave. Headed by one daring novice, the Assassins began to see that Malik was journeying for the good of Maysaf and they began to accept his absence – eventually they came to speak on when the Master would return. Alternately, the same novice had convinced a small handful of fellow novices to keep weather eye on Master ibn La-Ahad for Master al-Sayf, to at least make sure he was alive and sneak him food to keep him that way.

A bit of a normal pace return to Maysaf and it was neatly shattered when the novice emerged from his quarters one morning, eyes too bright in the early morning sun, with a peregrin perched on his bracer. He had gathered the Assassins away from prying ears and announced that Master al-Sayf had been betrayed by the acting Master and they had been charged with getting rid of him. The oldest and most experienced of the Assassins had taken charge of the mark and slipped away accordingly and, even after the betrayer's body was gone and cold, disposed of in the wilderness, shock ran deep through the Assassins. For the first time, they had no Master to turn to for advice and they felt lost, but that one novice bid them all to stay strong and continue on their paths, for Master al-Sayf wouldn't be happy if he returned to a stronghold full of mulling Assassins. And so, normalcy returned to Maysaf again until an exotic specimen of a raptor appeared to the novice almost a full month later and when he gathered his fellows that time, he did not let pride stop him from showing tears.

He announced, with a surprisingly strong voice, that Malik al-Sayf had been killed by the Templars the acting Master had sent after him. There was no body to be found, but the Master of the Cossackss had spared no expense in describing the carnage he had found at the boundary of his stronghold.

The Master of Maysaf was dead.

The novice was the only one to cry, but it was clear that no one present knew how to deal with the news. They had all set themselves towards the future, eager to see Malik back home and give him their reports of successful missions and the gain of new information. No one wanted to believe that there was no need for such hope anymore and no one wanted to think of what had to be done aside from finding an able replacement, a few hooded eyes darting to the southermost corner of the stronghold where the light from within never seemed to die.

Someone suicidal had to tell Master ibn La-Ahad what had happened.

Some days later, the novice had volunteered with a heavy heart. He had admired Malik for his strength to overcome, always viewed the loss of his arm a badge of honor and his ability to work as rafiq a sign of venerability, to take a demotion with such grace. He felt that, if he did this much, he might have even a glimmer of the grace and strength that Malik had.

"Master ibn La-Ahad?" The novice knocked tentatively and waited for a reply, unaware that he wouldn't get a verbal one. "Master ibn La-Ahad, are you there?"

"Go away," was the gruff reply, Altaϊr's voice rough from disuse.

The novice screwed up his courage, unaware that Malik had to freequently do the same thing, and actually dared to step inside the room. He immediately felt like running away, frightened by the texts and parchments that left no open space in the room, piled up and crammed into spaces to make room for more, the desk by the window littered with discarded quills and empty ink wells and the wax of spent candles. In the middle of the mess was the Eagle of Maysaf himself, scruffy and scrawny and sickly, much like an eagle that ha given up the will to live after an injury to his wings.

"You are suicidal, novice," Altaϊr snarled in warning, his head never lifting from the Apple or the parchment he wrote on.

The novice took a deep breath and knew that, if he died that day, he would do so in honor for standing up to an entity that scared him half to death. "Master ibn La-Ahad, you do not have to reply, but I beg you to hear me out. Something dire has happened and I feel as though you have the right to know about it."

"Then be out with it."

"Master al-Sayf departed Maysaf six cycles ago," the novice saw the tension in Altaϊr's shoulders, but continued just the same, "on a journey to find answers to our growing problems here and…"

"And this concerns me how?" Altaϊr demanded sharply.

"The acting Master showed his colors, Master ibn La-Ahad, and betrayed Master al-Sayf. We have discarded of the traitor but… an Assassin group known as Cossacks to the east confirmed that the Templar party…" The novice swallowed hard and steeled himself, determined to show no weakness to the Master Assassin. "He was murdered by the Templars, Master ibn La-Ahad."

There was nothing, not a flinch, not a wince, no sign of movement from Altaϊr. He kept kept scribing down what he saw in the Apple and eventually rumbled, "Had he not forgotten his station, he wouldn't have been in such a predicament."

Something about the cold way Altaϊr disregarded Malik's death snapped the novice and he didn't care if he was gutted, there was no call to speak ill of the dead. He reached for his belt before he could think on his actions, throwing a knife so that it lodged in the gap of Altaϊr's missing finger and spat out, "He left to help you, _Master_. He's dead because of _you_ and we have no Master because of your selfishness. Think about that while you rot with that goddamned artifact."

Altaϊr remained tense when the novice stormed out and slammed the door behind him, partially surprised that someone of so low a rank had dared to speak out of line so brazenly. For the first time since he had seen the Apple, his quill stilled and he set it against the parchment that was stuck to the table, gray eyes focusing on the knife the novice had left behind.

Malik had left for him?

Altaϊr mulled over the idea as it emerged from the mire of his thoughts, brow furrowed under a mess of uncared for hair and a hand rested across a chin thick with a beard. The novice's words had hit their mark as surely as the throwing knife had and it affected him worse because the child had unconsciously spoken almost the same words he had heard Malik speak…

He wouldn't hear Malik speak again.

Malik was gone…

Malik was dead.

Altaϊr wrestled with the notion until it made sense, until his mind could translate the foreign quality of spoken information into something he could understand. Dead, meaning not alive, to cease to live… His mind finally fixated on one crucial word and stuck there, slowly batting away the cobwebs of obsession.

Murdered.

Malik wasn't just dead, he had been murdered in a quest to help _him._

"_He's dead because of you and we have no Master because of your selfishness."_

The novice's words hit home yet again and Altaϊr felt them stab him in the back more surely than any blade had. He hadn't known that Malik had left, didn't know _anything_… That notion struck him too, that he knew _nothing_ of the world around him anymore. He had lost all sense of himself, of time and space, of everything he had come to care for in his path to the joint Master of Assassins.

No… Just the Master now…

Altaϊr felt his chest clench, the alien sting of pain almost frightening in its intensity. Malik was gone and he hadn't even had the mind to bid him farewell. He had no idea how much time had passed or what the Master had been doing with himself, how he faired with Maysaf under his wing and always demanding his attention. Now that he could think a little more clearly, he realized that he hadn't heard Malik banging on his door in the prescribed amount of time, no screaming for him to eat, to come out, to do something other than rot with the Apple.

Malik would never try to bang his door down again or scream at him in affronted pain. There would be no more jests or arguments, no more familiar bickering and no safe haven to return to after a mission. His lover, his partner, his fellow brother, his reason for continuing through betrayal and damnation was gone. Malik would never sneak up behind him and hug him again when he was too long in his studies, would never challenge him to a duel to get him out of the texts, would never again bind his injuries with care or sit with him through his injuries.

Slowly, but with sure speed, the spell began to lift from Altaϊr, awareness of self returning along with the cutting pain of loss and regret and guilt. It was unclear how much time it would take for him to return to some semblance of normal, but his reemerging instincts told him something Malik had told him mere minutes after Al Mualim had drawn his last breath:

"That thing has to go."

The irony, one could later reflect, was that Malik had spent so much time trying to find the way to save Altaϊr from the miasma of the Apple. What would he have thought if he knew his death was the antidote?

The day after a memorial for Malik, something powerful changed in Maysaf. After a near two year absence, Altaϊr ibn La-Ahad was found outside of his quarters, in full whites and cleaned up, but still haggard and malnourished. Shock was defintely prevalent, but no one had the mind to question the Eagle when he demanded the Apple be placed in a secure location, to be guarded at all times of the day by the finest Assassins in the stronghold. He further ordered that his notes be placed under lock and key as well, not to be accessed by any living being on pain of death.

The Assassins had scrambled to do Altaϊr's bidding, amazed that the death of one Master had brought the other one back to life.

When the orders were completed, Altaϊr called his brothers back to him and it was then that everyone could see the blaze of hatred, familiar to a much younger Eagle, deep in his eyes. "We will find the Templars responsible for Malik's death and illustrate for them the reason why you do not harm a brother of the Creed. Does anyone know his last location?"

The novice who had delivered a smack of reality to Altaϊr called out "A town called Volgograd, in the Russian province of Georgia. There is an Assassin stronghold in Sochi, on the sea border of Russia. It's possible the Templars are still in the area, or they may have moved back into this area… we have no idea who they were or where they come from."

"It's no matter," Altaϊr barked. "We _will_ find them and we _will_ make them pay."

A cheer, full of bloodlust and still some awe, rose up through the ranks and every Assassin on hand looked forward to finding the scum responsible for murderering their Master.

"If there is a record of Malik's travel, use it," Altaϊr commanded, his voice stronger than the first words he had croaked to the novice weeks ago. "Follow his path, find the enemy, and find where those men are. When you find them, bring then back to Maysaf to experience the wrath of her people."

The courtyard immediately went to action and the novice got most of the attention as Malik's primary correspondant; it was funny how a slight, vastly untrained young Assassin could hold command over so many better trained brothers, but Altaϊr respected the young man's tenacity, as he was the Master's last link to his slain lover.

"You will not have died in vain, Malik," Altaϊr swore under his breath. "You last wish will be carried out."

If anyone heard Altaϊr's vow, they wouldn't have known that he spoke of matters other than revenge, which Malik was always a staunch practitioner of. Malik had died because of Altaϊr and Altaϊr would do everything in his power to make sure that he _lived_ for both him and his lover until his dying day.

The Assassins were closing in, their leads growing stronger and their enemies more desperate to get out the way. While the brothers took care of bringing the murderers to Maysaf, Altaϊr turned towards the city herself, amazed at how _organized_ everything was. The way the stronghold had been taken care of reeked of Malik's tactical planning and it made Altaϊr smile sadly to know that he would never be able to chide Malik about his constant need to plan again. But, all of the Master's last works were scattered about for Altaϊr to find, the notes he had taken on the Pieces of Eden and the bits of information he hadn't meant to come across during his recovery.

Altaϊr had found sheaves of illustrations (which surprised him, as he had no idea that his lover was artistically inclined) for weapons and local plant life. There were diagrams of flora and notes of which parts were for first aid and which parts could be made into poison, which ones made balms and which made salves. There were weapon designs rendered in fantastic detail, a draft of another type of hidden blade and plentiful notes of Malik's conumdrum of how to utilize a second blade without taking off a second finger.

They all made Altaϊr smile and he put the notes away for safe keeping in his quarters, to look at when the loneliness became too much or he swore he might forget Malik all together. He found it sad and ironic that he and Malik had been working towards the same ends, ways to better the Brotherhood and be rid of old traditions, and it hurt him to know that so much misery could have been spared had he not given into temptation.

But, it was all past now and Altaϊr had to pick up the pieces and continue onward, as he had done in the past. It would be harder without Malik at his side, but he had already sworn to keep moving for them both. The pain was sometimes unbearable, but Altaϊr forged through it, training to rebuild his body, taking missions to sharpen his mind, all to distract himself from the pain and keep his promise.

He worked tirelessly for the day the Assassins brought him Malik's murderers and contented himself to run blind thereafter.

The mark of another passed month opened with the shrill warning of the guard. All available Assassins scrambled to either get out of bed, gear up, or both and the Master of Assassins was the first one to the square to head for the front gate. The warning call was for intruders and Altaϊr almost welcomed them, praying that they were enemies to kill and not more refugees disenchanted with their governments.

Altaϊr reached the guard post first and demanded a report from the Assassin in sharp tones.

"One in the lead and well over twenty behind that, all Templar from the colors they fly, Master."

Altaϊr smiled in an unholy way, much like he had when he was an Assassin, when he had the mark under his blade. "Good." He jumped down from the guard post and waited with cagey apprehension, appearing to be an eagle desperate to fly free again. It took a ten minutes for the majority of the forward guard and Assassins to show up and he counted that as enough to deal with some twenty Templars. "The enemy is at our gate and flying the colors of the Templar. They will not be killed on this field – they will be brought in for questioning before we dispose of them. Is that understood?"

The ranks acknowledged Altaϊr's order and the guard announced that the forerunner was within distance.

Altaϊr trusted his brothers to do what needed to be done without order or cue and so he took for the wall, fingers and the toes of his boots digging into niches in the defensive front to propel himself over the top, tucking his limbs into roll to his feet with all of his old grace. His hidden blade danced dangerously in the morning sun as he slipped through the trees to get as close to the forerunner as possible, intent on taking the first one out to use the horse to deal with the others.

His blood sang in delight as he scrambled up to a decent branch that would allow him to take the forerunner out, stormy eyes raking over the crimson robes and scowling in disgust at all they stood for. "Your life for his…" Altaϊr waited until the horse was almost upon him and sprang at the rider, bracing for the impact against another body and the cry of surprise from the brutish and vastly unrefined Templar bastard.

What Altaϊr got was another rude awakening.

He hit the forerunner hard, hidden blade plunged through the man's shoulder, and he realized he had a blade lodged in _his _arm when they hit the ground in a tumble of limbs. Instinct had Altaϊr pulling his hidden blade free to reach for his dagger and he was again stopped when the blade pulled from his shoulder and a similar dagger was held to the exact same spot on his neck.

Reality caught up to itself in fair time and Altaϊr could only gasp at the sight that lay underneath him. The robes he had thought carried the color of the Templars had been Assassin whites dyed red from the blood of too many injuries, new red seeping into one of the last vestigues of white from his own blade. His target stared up at him in hazy surprise, face masked in blood, but dark brown eyes clearly showing joy and relief.

"T-Thank you… for the kind w-welcome home…"

Altaϊr laughed and nothing else mattered as he embraced Malik, his throat tight and his eyes closed tightly when he felt a singular arm wrap weakly around his torso. "They said you were murdered."

"That's… w-what I heard," Malik replied weakly, "of y-you."

Altaϊr grit his teeth and gathered Malik into his arms, calling the horse back to place his lover in the saddle and climb on behind him. "You're almost home safe. Do not leave when you're this close." He knew from seeing death so many times that Malik was flirting too vigorously with it and he would be damned if Malik died before amends were made. "Stay with me, Malik."

The battle between forces began behind them, but Altaϊr didn't care. He trusted his brothers and, even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have cared anyway. His only focus was on Malik and assuring that the Master of Assassins survived whatever hell he had ridden through.

"You have a visitor, Master al-Sayf."

Malik rolled his eyes vigorously and slowly sat up, winded from just that little bit of exertion. His wounds had been numerous and near fatal, but the healers had done very well to read the texts he had collected and utilize their medical knowledge. He knew he would be down for months yet, but he was thankful that he'd had the will to at least die in Maysaf, where he might have a chance to glimpse his wounded lover one last time.

Come to think of it, Malik was still stunned. He had expected a warm welcome from Maysaf, but he hadn't expected his Eagle to come leaping out of the trees at him in a homicidal rage. In retrospect, it was funny in a sad way that they lovers had been reunited through violence where they had first expressed their repressed feelings through the same medium. But, no matter the method of reuniting or the injuries or the shock, Malik was just deeply thankful that Altaϊr had returned to the world. If only he knew why, a question that burned in the back of his mind since he had first regained consciousness.

"Master al-Sayf?"

"Send them in," Malik sighed. "Probably another amazed well-wisher demanding to know how I cheated death again."

The healer chuckled and disappeared into the outter room and her delicate voice spoke serious warnings of not upsetting her patient, that his condition was still shaky.

Malik followed the sound of boots against the flagstone and his smile turned from bitter to relieved when Altaϊr entered the room, soundless to all but his highly attuned lover. "Come, sit down. I thought you another irritant."

"Isn't that what I always am?" Altaϊr returned in jest, gray eyes dancing with their old, familiar fire. He sat down by Malik's bedside and clapsed the other Master's hand gently, his head falling as he murmured, "I have no idea how you survived for so long, but I thank Allah that you returned to me, Malik."

Malik disengaged his hand to lift Altaϊr's head, desperately needing to see the life in his lover, to dispel the fear that the Apple still had him enchanted. "I wanted to see you again, even if it was the back of your head."

"I'm sorry, Malik." The words were sudden and rushed, but full of desperation and pleading.

"For what, Altaϊr?"

"I left Maysaf to your charge, made you worry needlessly, shunned you and ignored you, hurt you when you tried to pull me back from the edge…" Altaϊr's head fell again under the weight of shame. "You never stopped trying to help me and I only hurt you… again."

Malik sighed and placed his hand against Altaϊr's cheek, his tone quiet and his words gentle. "I did not mind all of that, because I knew that it was not you, even if my words were sometimes… injurious. I left to try and find the answers for you, but I couldn't even do that much… What's so funny?"

"The thought of you leaving forever was the answer," Altaϊr stated around a chuckle.

"How is that funny?"

"If I knew, I would tell you. But, that novice that always follows you around, he told me that you were dead and I realized just how much I had wasted in my pursuit of the Apple. It was… it was like being stabbed, that bright pain that flares through your body, making everything make sense in one brilliant flash of agony."

"Word of my death… broke its hold?"

Altaϊr merely nodded and brought Malik's hand to his mouth to gently kiss each knuckle, hands secure and warm around his lover's wrist. "I locked the Apple away and my notes with it, swore that no living man would ever touch them. I… I swore that I would live for both of us, to honor your last wish."

"So my being alive means we go back to before?" Malik inquired sarcastically.

The remark wasn't taken that way and Altaϊr went pale with panic. "No, never again, Malik. That Piece is as evil as you said it was and I will never partake of its temptation again!"

The words soothed Malik's fear and made him smile, made him chance pain to lean over and kiss Altaϊr, chastely so as not to give the Eagle the idea that he wasn't in amazing amounts of pain. "I missed you so much."

"And I you." Altaϊr rested his forehead against Malik's and simply basked in his presence, his chest warm with the relief of having his lover alive and well before him. "We will work together from now on, no more separations or fights, I swear."

Malik laughed and kissed Altaϊr again before he asked, "I rather like our arguments, Altaϊr. They lead to pleasant apologies when no one is looking."

"Then the arguments shall stay. But we will work together."

"Agreed. Together."


End file.
